


087 - Brit Awards

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 04:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “Can you do a story where you go to an awards show with the boys?”





	087 - Brit Awards

Van's head was between your legs when he got the news about the Brit Award. His phone vibrated and you picked it up. You answered with a breathy hello. It was his manager, and you said he was a little busy. Van stopped for a second to chuckle, then he was back to work. She told you instead; they were nominated for the British Breakthrough Act award. She'd send some more details through later, she said. You thanked her and hung up.

"Babe," you said. He didn’t stop. You were close. "Oh fuck don't stop what you're doing, but just so you know, you've been nominated for a Brit Award." He did stop. Straight away. He pushed the blanket away and appeared on top of you. "I said don't stop,"

"A Brit Award? Like, a real one?"

"What? No, a fake one, Van. Yeah. Best breakthrough act, or whatever. It's a big fucking deal and I'm going to celebrate the fuck out of you in like, ten minutes. Just give me ten more minutes. Please?" you grinned up at him. He kissed you and disappeared under the blanket again.

…

You met up with the others at their favourite pub. They were all cheers and hugs and unassuming hope. "Breakthrough," Van said. "Like we've not been grafting for nine odd years,"

"Van, don't you know we only started to be a band once NME said we were worthy," Benji joked.

"Don't get me fuckin' started."

They were stoked, and they were trying to pretend to not be. They didn't start the band for accolades or fame. They did it to escape a monotonous adult life, to bring people together, to honour good music, and to make their families proud. That's what the award was though. It was a way to bring home a tangible thing and give it to Mary and to Bernie and to all their parents and say 'look, you were right to have faith in us.'

You bought Van a card and wrote out a long list of all the things you were proud of him for. The very last item was the award. He didn't let you go for eight minutes after you gave it to him in bed. He reread it, and you watched him. Then, you gifted him with the best head he'd ever had.

…

The night of, you were ready before any of the guys. You sat smoking on the balcony with Bondy, who looked how he always did. "Not dressing up?" you smirked. He blew smoke in your direction and shook his head. Van wore black and white. His jacket was velvet and you kept touching it in the car. You were sure that was the only reason he wore so much velvet. You had bought the most expensive dress you'd ever owned. It was white and almost looked like a wedding dress. Van kept glancing at you, all starry eyed and winks.

You stood with their manager as they had photos taken, and you contained hysterical laughter at how awkward they looked. They literally looked like they wanted to die, and when they were finally allowed to move, Van held your hand tight. "If you feel this weird, imagine how Bob's feeling," you whispered to him. He nodded. You were led to your table, and you could see everyone relax out of the direct gaze of the cameras. The guys sat on one half of the table, you between Van and a record executive you'd met a couple of times. The other half of the table were more people from the label.

You stayed sober as they started to drink out of nervousness. Van fidgeted the whole night and kept looking around the huge room. You watched the guys whisper to each other whenever they spotted someone they were impressed by. "You look so beautiful, Y/N," Van kept saying, and you put a hand on his thigh and patted him reassuringly.

"You know we're all proud of you, yeah? No matter what," you told him in the moments before their award was due to be announced. He nodded and tried to hook some hair behind his ear. You brushed through it with your fingers, taking out some knots. You smoothed his hair down. "I love you,"

"I love you too."

Nick Grimshaw and Cheryl Cole started speaking. "And the winner is…, Grimmy," she said, and handed the envelope to Nick. He gasped loudly and said the words you had no doubt would be said. Catfish and the Bottlemen. Bondy was up first, then the rest of the table erupted in cheers. Van looked at you. "Babe. Up, go get your award," you had to urge him. He held your face and kissed you hard. You stood and watched him smile wide and shake hands with everyone. Then, he led his band onto the stage. He hugged Nick, and kissed Cheryl's hand. You knew he had a crush on her for a long time. You chuckled to yourself as you sat back down.

The room settled to hear the speech. Nick put the statue on the podium, saying "Here you go, Van. That's for you."

Van gripped the microphone in one hand, and his other was held in the air in a thumbs up. "Thank you. Thank you very much to anyone that voted for us. You're class. Uh, we're very grateful, very humbled. Radio One. Brit Awards. Thank you for the recognition. We're Catfish and the Bottlemen. See you in a bit." That was it, and they left the stage. You looked around to see how people were reacting. Unsurprisingly they found Van charming, and they were also happy to not have a longwinded speech. Their manager snuck around to you and asked if you wanted to go watch their post-award interviews.

You stood to the side of the room as the boys lined up next to an interviewer. He asked how they were feeling, and if they had a speech prepared. "Did you see that?" Bondy quipped. Constantly a fuck, that one. They were asked if they were heading to the after parties. Van answered awkwardly, saying they had their own planned. He spoke like he realised he'd ruined a surprise party. You could feel their nervousness, still. Van complimented the interviewer's suit, called him 'sir' and they were on their way.

The second round was more of a mini press conference. The boys stood up front and spoke to a few different people off camera. Van put the statue down on the ground. One of them said he could hold it, if he'd like. He left on the ground and explained if they put the camera close, it would look huge. Bless his little cotton socks. They were asked the same round of questions, how they felt, what the award meant. Benji said to be winning a 'breakthrough' award after nine years was strange, but still awesome. The final question was about their plans, and who they'd like to hang out with after the press was done. Van asked if Father John Misty was around.

They were ushered down a hallway, and you followed behind their manager. They were waiting by a fire exit, itching to leave. Van pulled you into him as soon as you were within arm's reach. Hugging, he breathed out for a long time. You wondered if he'd been holding his breath since their name was first read out. Their manager said she'd meet them back at the table after they ducked out for a quick smoke. Outside in an alleyway, you leant against Van's frame, as he leant against the wall. You didn't want to get anything on your white dress. They stood in silence for a few minutes, sharing lighters and looks.

"Fuck," Benji eventually said.

"Can we just go?" Bondy asked.

You walked out the front of the building and called two cabs over. You sent them both down the alleyway, sitting in the front seat of one. You watched Bob, Benji and Bondy pile into the cab in front, then Van sat in the back of yours. You looked over the seat at him. "You did it, baby," you whispered. He nodded, closed his eyes, and leant back on the seat.

…

When you were almost home Van's phone started to ring from inside your bag. They'd not picked up their actual awards. The one handed to them on stage was a dummy, to be exchanged for engraved real ones. You explained you were across the city already. They'd have to send the awards in the post. Van said he'd give the stage trophy to Larry; the unofficial fifth member.

…

As the night went on, more and more people piled into your place. People that loved the boys, or had anything to do with their success. You tried to offer Mary tea, but she laughed and asked where the spirits were. They'd all changed back into their regular clothes, except for Van. People kept rubbing up against his velvet jacket and he loved it. The centre of attention. You kept your dress on for a few hours, before deciding you were tempting fate. You disappeared into the bedroom to get changed. The bedroom door opened and closed while you were in the ensuite. You poked your head out to see who it was. Van was sitting on the bed. "Are you changing?" he asked.

"About to, yeah,"

"Come here first." You walked over to him, already barefoot. He held your hips and looked up at you. "You are so fucking stunnin', Y/N. And you are the absolute love of my life. You know that, right?" You leant forward and let him hug you, his head resting on your stomach. "I fucking love you, and I appreciate everythin' you've done for me. For the band,"

"It's easy, Van. You and me, all of this, loving you… it's easy."

He stood up and kissed you and you could feel how happy he was.

He left you alone to get changed. It felt good to be back in jeans and a t-shirt. You gave yourself one final look in the mirror before rejoining the party, before letting the night dissipate into a blurry memory of pride and cigarettes and long hugs and good music.


End file.
